


You're worth it.

by WhisperingMagpie



Series: Bangs and Fic Events [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cutting, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 21:44:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8914021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperingMagpie/pseuds/WhisperingMagpie
Summary: 2015 secret santa gift for @womanoflettersinthebunker.





	

**Author's Note:**

> HEY. HEY YOU.  
> SEE THOSE TAGS?  
> Suicide attempt and cutting.  
> If those trigger you, hit the back button.
> 
> Though, it does end in cute first time sex, so if you can get past the first part, the end might cheer you up.

Sam sighed, looked down at the stack of papers in his hands once more, and then tossed them into the fireplace. Just then, the cabin door banged open. John was hanging onto Dean’s shoulder, neither of them looking particularly well as they stumbled inside. Sam looked up quickly, hand moving to his gun at his side, but he abandoned it when he saw the state of his father and brother.

Just in time.

A few seconds earlier, and he would have had to explain the papers he was burning. Not like it would have mattered to them.

“Get the first aid kid, son,” John barked weakly as Dean helped him over to the couch. Sam hurriedly got to his feet, digging the first aid kit from their father’s duffel. He started first with tending to his father’s wounds, cleaning and bandaging a nasty gash on his leg that had been the cause of his trouble walking. Once the bleeding had been stopped, John held a hand out impatiently and Sam dumped a few pain pills into it. John shuffled off to his bed, closest to the door, rinsing back the pills with a swig of whiskey before falling onto the dusty mattress with a grunt.

Sam moved over to his brother, inspecting him for cuts and bruises. It wasn’t until Sam went to push Dean’s shirt up to continue checking him that Dean laid a hand over his, stopping him. “ ‘m okay, Sammy. Was just Dad that the thing got. Black dog came outta nowhere from behind us. We’d been tracking it for days, but it found us first.”

Dean chuckled at the worried expression on Sam’s face. “Don’t worry, Dad put a bullet in its brain before it could catch us again.”

“Good,” Sam said with a nod, before he stood to fetch the bottle of whiskey their father had left on the night stand. He held it out to Dean, who accepted it gratefully, taking a long sip as he sat down in front of the roaring fireplace, before offering it to Sam. Sam shook his head as he returned to his place on the couch. The last of the papers were curling and turning black by now, and the fire was burning bright from the extra kindling. A large red S was printed on the corner of one page. Dean didn’t seem to notice as they both stared silently into the blaze.

It had been almost a year since Bobby called to talk to Sam, said it was some good news, but to call him back when he was alone. Sam called back the next day when Dean and John were out getting dinner. Bobby made a big deal of going on and on about how great this news was going to be, that Sam was going to have a good life now. Sam had completely forgotten until Bobby gave him the news. A big fat envelope from Stanford University had arrived. Bobby apologized for opening it, but he just had to find out what was in it. Sam had been accepted! He was going to be a rich, smartypants lawyer at a prestigious law school, Bobby teased.

Sam gave him the address of the motel they were staying at, and Bobby said he’d ship it express, in a new envelope so his father wouldn’t know what it was. When the package arrived, Sam hid it in the bottom of his duffel until the next time he was alone to read it. He was nearly bouncing on his feet. He didn’t know how he’d ever bring it up to Dean and their dad. Dean would be proud of him, but he wasn’t sure how John would take it. The school had offered him a scholarship that would cover the first year, so he would have plenty of time to work and save up for the rest. It wouldn’t cost them a thing.

—–  
Sam had casually brought up the idea of college once or twice since he’d started 11th grade, but John always seemed to brush it off, telling him to look up something in an old lore book. His teachers told him he should start looking into it so he’d have time to save up and start as soon as he graduated. He brought home an armload of pamphlets when the colleges visited his school and laid them out on the table. He’d show his Dad when he got home from the werewolves he and Dean were hunting next town over.

When Sam got home from the gas station with a couple bags of snacks, the shiny black Impala was parked out front, and he could hear Dean and his Dad talking loudly in the kitchen. Books and papers were spread all over the table. As he walked in, John was tossed the stack of college pamphlets into the trash can to make room for more old books.

“He doesn’t have time for college, we need him here,” John said firmly as he pulled out a chair and opened to a bookmarked page.

Dean was standing by the garbage can, frowning with his arms folded over his chest. He clearly disagreed, but wasn’t about to speak out against his father. He sighed, then glanced up as Sam walked into the room. “Just got back. Hungry? Was about to heat up some soup for dinner.”

“Not hungry,” Sam said as he brushed past Dean, putting away a jug of milk in the fridge, then went to his bed by the far wall, digging in his duffel for the book he was supposed to be reading for English. Anything to keep from having to look at them. In fact, Sam was feeling anything but hungry. He could feel the bile threatening to rise in his throat. He shouldn’t have hoped that John would let him leave. Now he knew why his Dad always brushed off the subject of college. It was like him and every other hunter said. You never get out of the life. The world needed him to take down all the bad things out there. He was supposed to save people. No time for a stuffy college education. He would never get away.

Sam’s stomach gurgled threateningly as he lay on his side, staring at the same page for twenty minutes until Dean called him for dinner. Sam waved it off, saying he’d eaten on the way home. He felt too sick at the thought of being stuck in this life forever.

As the next few days dragged into weeks, Sam barely ate. He welcomed the ache in the deep, empty pit of his stomach. Maybe if he looked sickly, John would send him to live with Bobby for a while. Instead, John didn’t seem to notice at all, and kept working him long into the night after school doing research while he and Dean were looking for hunts. Some part of him felt like eating was at least something in his life that he could control. Sam felt increasingly weak, but he pushed himself, sustaining himself with caffeine instead. It was only when he could feel Dean watching him across the table that he ate more than a few mouthfuls of dinner.

For months, the Stanford letter stayed in the bottom of his duffel, unopened. He knew now that his dad was never going to let him leave the family business, so he didn’t see much point in even reading it.

When starving himself didn’t help anymore, Sam started looking for other ways to feel the same ache again. He snagged a sewing needle from the Home Ec department and wrapped it up in a scrap of fabric, tucking it into his pocket

The first scrape of the point along the inside of his forearm was glorious. The needle was small and sharp, so much more precise than he would have ever gotten from a big clumsy knife, and he could hide it more easily. And lucky for him, the weather was turning cool so he could wear his long sweatshirt to cover his arms.

He rarely cut deep enough to draw blood, but when he did, it sent shudders down his spine. This sure as hell beat starving. He even started to eat more again. Dean smiled and started to comment on how he wasn’t so scrawny anymore.

Sam had his back turned while he changed his shirt. He paused as he squatted down to pull a new shirt from his bag, and traced a fingertip over the marks on his arms. Every single one of them was a reminder of why he couldn’t leave. After a while, he’d started to focus on drawing long straight lines, and when those healed over, he made lines the other way. Crisscrossed, like the bars of a cage. The whole patch of skin was red and puffy, probably starting to get infected from being picked at. He’d have to switch to the other arm. Or maybe his leg. Somewhere easily covered.

He dug in the side of his bag for the sewing needle and unwrapped it. Touching it to the tip of his finger, he smiled bitterly. Still sharp. As he traced three straight lines on his other arm, he breathed deeply. Some days, he wondered, what would happen if he dug the needle in deeper, hit a vein. Would all his blood rush out? If he did it, would anyone stop him? His father was more concerned with the lives of other people. All those people they had to save. Dean might care. But Dean wasn’t here. Didn’t seem like Dean had any say anyway. He just did what he was told.

Sam pressed harder with the needle, hissing as a line of blood appeared. It fucking hurt. The needle probably wasn’t very sharp. Now he was starting to see why people used knives for this kind of thing. The needle rolled across the floor, abandoned as Sam searched for a knife in his bag.

He flicked open a small blade and tested it with his thumb. It cut him without even trying. Sam had been doing this wrong all along. He brought the knife to his arm, and after the jagged needle, he could barely feel as he cut across his forearm. Rich red blood began to run down his arm, pool in his palm. It dripped through his fingers. Just a little deeper, and then maybe…maybe he’d be free. He wouldn’t have to be a hunter anymore. He settled down on the floor, leaning against the side of his bed and pressed the knife into his flesh.

“Sammy?” Dean said softly from the doorway.

Sam jumped and the knife clattered to the floor. He watched it skitter away, then at the droplets of blood gathering on the floor. He hadn’t heard Dean come in. He looked away, suddenly breathing much too heavily.

Dean was at his side in an instant, picking up his discarded shirt and wrapping it tightly around his arm. “Sam, what are you doing? What are all these marks on your arms?”

When he didn’t respond, Dean started to shake him, but Sam just flopped weakly against him. How was he supposed to explain that he was trying to…he couldn’t even say it. He could hear Dean saying things that were meant to comfort him, telling him to hold on, while he grabbed the knife and cut long strips from the tshirt, before tying them tightly over the makeshift bandage. He knelt lower, hands on Sam’s shoulders, leaning to look him in the eye.

“Why would you do this to yourself, Sam?”

Sam had trouble focusing, his gaze flickering between Dean and the blood smeared on the floor.

“Was gonna be free, Dean. Wouldn’t have to save people, hunt things. No more. Can’t go to school. Don’t deserve it anyway. Not good enough.”

Dean drew Sam into his arms, holding him as tightly as he dared. It he hadn’t been there at the right time, Sam could have slipped away from him. He could feel Sam shaking.

“How could you ever think that you weren’t good enough, that you don’t deserve more?” Dean rubbed his wide hands slowly up and down Sam’s back, one shifting up into his hair. “You deserve everything. You’re everything to me, Sam. You’re so smart. You’re gonna be the one to get out. You’ll go to college, meet a pretty girl. You’ll have a real job.”

“What if I don’t want a pretty girl?” Sam was shaking even more violently now, sounding out of breath as he spoke muffled into Dean’s shoulder. “Besides, I’m a hunter. Always will be. Just like Dad said.”

“No, Sam. It doesn’t matter what Dad says. You can be whatever you want to be.” Dean froze. “What do you mean? Don’t you want a wife and two-point-five kids, big house, all that normal stuff?”

Sam laughed humorlessly, and slowly looked up, one hand lifting to rub away tears that were blurring his vision. “I want out, yeah. A place to call my own. But I want you there, Dean. All I ever wanted was you, and you never noticed.”

Dean frowned. “Of course I’ll be there for you. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll probably get a place right down the street. We’ll go out to the pub together on the weekends. You can have a dog, and so long as it doesn’t have fleas, you can bring it over too.”

Sam shook his head, hand pressing to his brother’s chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. “No, Dean! You don’t get it. I want you to live with me. I want to wake up with you every day. Only you. I…love you, Dean. I know we’re brothers and I’m gross and unworthy and it’s….just…just want you to know.”

Dean was stunned for a moment.Then he did the only thing he could think of, when words wouldn’t come to him. He slid his hands into Sam’s hair, cradling his head and pressed their mouths together. He smiled as he felt Sam pushing at him in surprise, but he didn’t let go, making sure the kiss lingered for a couple seconds before pulling away. Sam blinked at him, face flushed bright red, until Dean explained himself. “Love you too, Sam. Always have, always will. And I’m going to show you just how wrong you are. You’re worth it. You’re so worth it, Sam. You’re the most important thing in the world to me.”

Then he kissed Sam again, hands sliding down his sides, lifting him gently until he moved them both onto the bed. Sam laid back, and his older brother leaned over him, kissing him sweetly, so deeply that his head was spinning with the intensity. When they finally broke apart, Sam was panting.

Laid out underneath his older brother, Sam felt so exposed, even in his clothes. Dean’s eyes roamed over him reverently. His hands moved slowly as if touching something precious, and indeed he was. Sam was the most sacred thing Dean had ever touched.

Sam began to shake again as Dean’s palms rested on his chest, smoothing outward along his arms, then down his stomach, and back up. His fingertips slid along the sides of Sam’s face as he leaned in, capturing Sam’s lips. Only then did Sam stop shaking, hands hesitantly lifting to drape around Dean’s neck.

When Dean’s hands started to roam lower, Sam laid back again. Dean slowly placed kisses down his brother’s chest and stomach, each kiss punctuated by a word. “Beautiful. Gorgeous. Wonderful. Smart. Talented.” Sam was flustered under the praise before Dean even reached the waistband of his jeans.

Dean glanced up questioningly, and Sam nodded once, hips lifting as Dean unbuttoned and tugged down his jeans and boxers. He moved down the bed, removing each of Sam’s socks as well. Peeling off his own shirt, he glanced back, and stood to shut the door, locking it behind him. He kicked off his boots, grinning at Sam as he undid his jeans and dropped them to the floor, undressing until they were both entirely nude.

“Don’t worry. Dad won’t be back tonight, but just thought I’d shut the door anyway. Just in case.”

Sam nodded, unable to keep from staring as Dean walked closer and knelt on the bed, leaning down to kiss his way up Sam’s legs, hands resting on his hips, pausing as he hovered over his little brother’s sizeable cock which was starting to twitch, rock hard against his stomach. “Always loved you, Sam. Love every part of you. From your toes up to your head. But I sure never expected this. You’re huge!”

“Deaaaaann!” Sam whined, and Dean looked up, chuckling at how Sam’s face seemed to have gotten even redder. He crawled up and straddled Sam’s thighs, wrapping a hand around both thier dicks so he could press them together.

“Look at that, Sammy. You’re even bigger than me. God, I bet that’d feel so good inside me. Never tried anything that big.” He absently licked his palm and wrapped it around both their cocks, spreading the pre-come dribbling out as well. He shuddered and bucked his hips, stroking up and down quickly.

Sam just whimpered and squirmed in pleasure, head thrown back. After a few more strokes, Dean stopped and let go, leaning forward to run his other hand through Sam’s hair, leaning in and kissing him tenderly. His voice lowered and he pulled away, just barely. “But tonight is all about you. We’ll work up to more another time.”

Sam nodded, breathless and he lay back, hair ruffled and splayed around his head. He watched as Dean slowly moved down his body, leaving a trail of kisses, worshipping every inch of him. “You’re so special to me, Sam. Don’t you ever forget that,” he said as he pulled away, going to fetch something from his bag. He returned with a bottle of lube and a condom. He rolled the condom on, before squeezing some lube onto his fingers. “Gonna make this so good for you, I promise.”

“Want it, Dean,” Sam panted, shifting to spread his legs, watching as Dean knelt between them. He closed his eyes tightly as he felt Dean press in first one finger, and then slowly added a second. Those two didn’t bother him much, but when Dean started to press in a third, he began to squirm. The stretching was starting to hurt. It was too much. “Waitwait, stop. Deaaaann.”

Dean froze, fingers halfway inside Sam and looked up, his other hand rubbing soothingly along his brother’s side. “Gonna be okay. Relax. Have to get you stretched out first. Deep breaths.”

Sam nodded, and breathed in slowly. When Dean felt him start to relax, he pulled his fingers out, added more lube, and then tried again. This time they slid in more easily. Dean moved his fingers in an out gently, stretching him before pulling away. He wiped the excess lube on his cock then cleaned his hand on his discarded tshirt. “Ready?”

Sam nodded quickly, and Dean leaned up, pressing his mouth to Sam’s as he guided himself in. Sam moaned against his lips as Dean filled him up. Sam broke away from the kiss, head tipping back, breathing shaky. He’d never felt something like this. Being so full, so surrounded by his older brother, from the inside and out. Dean was everywhere. “Oh my god, Deannn.”

His hands quickly curled around the back of Dean’s head, pulling him closer and kissing him without abandon. Dean returned the kisses just as eagerly, taking the chance to start thrusting in and out. Sam moaned loudly and clung to him, while Dean’s hands moved down and under his ass, lifting his hips to get a better angle.

Sam cried out as Dean’s dick rubbed over his prostate, the friction repeated as Dean kept moving inside him. “Fuck, fuck right there, Dean!”

Dean moved faster and faster, head down to burrow into Sam’s shoulder, the smell of hormones and sweat and sex on his brother’s skin bringing him closer and closer to the edge. Then suddenly Sam was wrapping his legs over Dean’s lower back, holding tightly, back arching as he slammed their hips together.

“Aaah, Deaaaann~”

Dean felt something warm and sticky splatter between them, and doubled his efforts, slamming in deep until he finally came. He groaned low as they slowed to a halt, and Sam’s legs finally uncurled from around him. Dean pulled out, sliding the condom off and tying it before pulling Sam close against his chest. Sam grumbled and reached for a spare bit of clothing, cleaning the mess between them before snuggling up to his brother, head tucked under his chin. He smiled and closed his eyes as Dean’s fingers ran gently through his hair before curling around his back, pressing them together from head to toe. He’d never felt safer, or more special.

“Thank you.” When Dean looked down, curious, Sam continued, “For changing my mind.”

Dean smiled, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Love you, always.”

“Love you too, Dean.” Sam smiled, and leaned up to steal a kiss from his brothers lips, before nestling into his arms.


End file.
